


Flying High as Bedrock

by Steel_Dragon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel_Dragon/pseuds/Steel_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flying High as Bedrock is a Highschool AU for Red vs Blue, featuring a variety of PoVs and characters from the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Allison had never liked goodbyes, and this wasn’t any different. True, she hated literally everyone at this school, but she would be lying if she said she wouldn’t miss her small home in Austin, Texas. Instead, she was going to go live with some shitty relative she really didn’t care about. Why’d her dad have to pass away? Couldn’t he have waited until she was at least eighteen?

Taking her seat on her motorcycle, she started the engine, throwing up her hand and raising her middle finger. That was as much of a good-bye as those dicks were getting.

Allison drove for awhile, the wind whipping through her hair. After arriving at the airport, she kicked the stand down, taking off the helmet. She shook her hair out, the top of it sticking to her head while everything that was left loose was wind-swept. She worked the look, though. It fitted with the cut-off shirt that showed her belly button and tight jeans with way too many zippers she wore. She took a faded green cap out of her duffel, fitting it snugly onto her head. She stuffed the helmet into the bag, then walked into the airport.

 

Carolina was walking down the hall with her _best friend_ , York. _Best. Friend._ NOT boyfriend. Definitely not boyfriend. Why did everyone assume they were dating?!

“‘Lina,” York waved a hand in front of her face, “Earth to ‘Lina.”

“Huh?” She turned to look at her, once again, _best friend_. He chuckled, shaking his head. His brown hair was spiked up in the front, even though York didn’t tend to use that much hair gel. It was a gift, he said when asked. He was flashing her one of those bright smiles that he seemed to always wear.

“Wow, you completely zoned.” He was wearing that stupid tan zip-up hoodie that had ‘New York’ in blocky white lettering printed across the front. He was always wearing that thing, even in the middle of Summer. He’d been called ‘New York’ so many times by strangers trying to get his attention, everyone had started calling him by the name. After a while, that nickname was shortened to just ‘York’. Practically the only time brunet took it off was for football games, when he was required to wear his jersey.

“Thinking about midterms,” She explained, “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you heard about the new girl,” He said as they reached Carolina’s locker. She opened it, putting away her AP Calculus textbook. Oh, yeah, the new girl.

“Tex?” She was familiar with the girl. Her name was Allison, but she adamantly insisted everyone call her Texas, or just Tex. Carolina personally didn’t care for her. They shared a study hall and Tex had sat in the back playing music. When prompted to put in earbuds, because _some_ people were trying to study for their huge AP government midterm, she had raised a single finger, and it wasn’t the pinky, index, ring, or thumb.

“Yeah, her,” York nodded, “She’s in my english class. Says she’s trying out for the cheer squad.”

Carolina snorted. “I doubt she’ll make it.” Their cheer team was the best in the league, and Carolina was the captain. You had to be passing all your classes to be on the squad, and from what Carolina heard Tex didn’t exactly try her hardest to maintain grades. Not to mention that she didn’t really seem like the school pep type.

Carolina grabbed the textbook for her next class before starting to walk with York again. They both had a science class, but York was taking anatomy while Carolina was taking AP physiology. The classrooms were near enough, however, that they walked together. They reached York’s first.

“Cya, ‘Lina,” He said, waving quickly before disappearing through the door. She nodded at him, then continued walking to her own.

 

Simmons tapped his pen anxiously against his notebook. Beside him Church glowered.

“Cut it out, Simmons,” Church glowered. Simmons stopped, biting his lip. “Why are you so worked up anyway? It’s just a test.”

“It’s worth thirty percent of our grade!” Simmons objected as the teacher grew nearer, passing out papers.

She arrived at Church’s desk, laying down his test. On it was marked ‘98%’ in red pen. Simmons gulped as the teacher approached him and set his own down. He dared a glance at it and let out a breath.

“Only an 87?” Church asked, raising an eyebrow. Simmons glared at him, his face flushing.

“Not all of us are geniuses like you! Did you even study?”

“Who needs to study when you have an eidetic memory?” Simmons had always been jealous of Church’s academic abilities.  Due to his eidetic memory, Church never studied for anything and managed to get near perfect scores on practically everything.

“You’re an asshole,” Simmons grumbled. Church just shrugged.

“Trust me, Tucker’s told me that enough already,” He sighed. “Hey, what time do we get out of here again?”

“It’s your second year here and you still don’t know what times the classes end?” Simmons frowned down at his paper. He could have sworn he did that problem correctly. “The bell rings at 12:55.”

Church groaned. “We still have twenty more minutes.”

The teacher called for the class’s attention and they shut up, with a muttered comment from Church that Simmons shot him a look for. As she launched into an explanation of a problem that most of the class (excluding Church) missed, Simmons was reminded why he loved math. There was a clear, concise answer. If he missed it, it was easy to understand why he missed it. He wished he didn’t have to go to English next period. His one solace was he shared English with Dexter Grif, his best friend. He breathed out through his nose, going back to the math work he’d be doing for the rest of class.

 

One, two, three, four. Two, two, three four. Three, two, three, four. David Washington put his trumpet to his lips. Four, two, three, four. He blew, a high C erupting from the bell of the horn. He tapped his foot in time with the music. Behind him the steady beat of a snare pulsed, helping him time his playing. The conductor cut the band off and the last note pierced through the air.

“Alright, good work today. Remember to accent those last few notes, clarinets,” The band director said, “Dismissed.”

As David packed his trumpet into his case, a black student flopped down into the seat beside him. David shot him a side-ways glance. It was the snare drummer, Lavernius Tucker.

“Man, indoor practice is so boring. Why’d it have to rain?” He complained.

“Lavernius-”

“Tucker,” The sophomore immediately corrected. Tucker hated his first name. David sometimes forgot that fact.

“Right, Tucker. Why the hell do you like marching so much?” David hated marching. He was horrible at it, even after four years of practice. He was still section leader, though, since his playing ability was much better than the second chair’s.

“I dunno,” Tucker shrugged, “Takes your mind off shit?”

“You actually have enough stuff going on in your brain that there’s something to get it off of?” David smirked, “Color me impressed.” Tucker punched his shoulder playfully.

“Hey, I’m smarter than I look, Wash.” Wash was David’s nickname. No one was really sure how it got started, or by who, but soon everyone was calling him it.

“Really?” Wash’s eyes widened with mock astonishment. Tucker opened his mouth to retort when the bell rang. As Wash hurried to finish packing his things, Tucker loped out of the band room. Wash couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed the conversation had ended so suddenly.

 

South was sitting on a brick wall outside the school, a cigarette in her hand. She took a drag of it, then blew out through her mouth. She watched the smoke rise. She hated school. The only class she genuinely enjoyed was weight training.

She rested her forehead against the knee of her left leg, which was pulled up beside her on the wall. Her right leg dangled down, not quite reaching the ground.

South looked over as there was a scratching sound of jeans on brick beside her. Connie Truman smiled softly at her.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Connie said as a way of greeting, crossing her legs and hunching over, hands folded in her lap.

“You skipping class too, C.T.?” She asked. She would offer the cigarettes, except she knew C.T. didn’t smoke.

“Just comin’ to make sure you’re alright,” She said, looking off at the busy road in the distance. A car horn honked loudly.

“‘Course I am. I do this all the time,” South puffed on the cigarette.

“You’re doing in more often lately,” C.T. observed.

“Well, you know how it is,” South brushed a few strands of her purple-tipped blonde hair behind her ear. Or, what was purple-tipped. Her dye job had faded to more of a pink, now.

“Can’t say I do, South,” C.T. finally looked over at South, worry pinching her brow slightly, “Is it North again?”

South sighed heavily. North. Her twin was always a sore spot for her. It didn’t help the entire school had started calling him North when she’d started calling herself South. He was one of the smartest kids in the school, along with being an excellent football player. South found herself constantly overshadowed.

“I’m so tired of being compared to him,” She complained. C.T.’s hand closed over her own and she realized it’d been clenched tightly. Her fingers slowly unfurled and wove themselves through Connie’s. The other girl squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I just wanna be my own person. Not a twin, not the South to Dominic’s North. The whole reason I chose the name South was to get away from having such similar names. I hate the name Dominique. It’s so stupid.”

“If it helps, I don’t see you as just North’s sister,” Connie offered.

“I know _you_ don’t, Connie, but everyone else does. Hell, even my parents think it.” She leaned her head against C.T.’s shoulder. She felt Connie’s thumb brushing light circles over the back of her hand.

They sat in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, more of an easy quiet where just touching spoke volumes of comfort. South loved the feeling of the smaller girl’s hand over her’s. Loved the way her head rested easily against C.T.’s shoulder, loved the way her heart fluttered in her chest.

After a while, South removed her head and Connie shifted so that she was lying down, her head pillowed in South’s lap. South had dropped her cigarette butt a long time ago, using the heel of her palm to grind it out, then wiping her hand on her pants. South leaned back on her left hand while her other hand trailed absentmindedly through Connie’s short, fluffy, brown hair. Half of it fell across her face, slightly in front of her eye. The other half had been shaved down to stubble, once. Now it was long enough to just barely qualify as strands. C.T. had her lip pierced, a silver ring looped through the hole. She knew under the other girl’s brown hoodie there was a tattoo of birds flying down her right side.

They stayed like that, in companionable silence, until the bell rang, signaling it was time for their last class of the day.

 

North sat down in his honors calculus class, pulling out the homework from last night. He glanced over it once before putting it aside and starting on the warm up. A few moments later, York plunked down into the desk next to him.

“Hey,” York flashed him a smile. North looked at him, giving one of his own.

“You ready for the game tonight?” He asked. It was their first game of the season and North already had butterflies in his stomach.

“Hell yeah. I’ve been training like mad.” York flexed for emphasis. North couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t pulled his homework out yet.

“You didn’t do your homework last night, did you?” North sighed. York was brilliant, especially in math, but he wasn’t the most responsible person. Nor did he do his best in his classes. He breezed through most of them, not caring if he did well or not, so long as he got a good enough grade to pass. If he really applied himself, he could probably be a straight A student.

“We had homework?” York asked, leaning over and looking at North’s paper, “Oh, yeah. Shit.” York rummaged through his backpack. It was a mess, loose papers everywhere. North had no idea how he kept track of everything. His own papers were organized into binders, and those binders were color-coded according to class.

“If you don’t keep your grades up, coach is gonna be pissed,” North chided.

“Fuck, I hate Sarge’s lectures,” The shorter boy groaned, putting his head in his hands dejectedly. Coach Sarge’s lectures had the tendency to include shouting and name-calling. In fact, his normal vocabulary was mostly name-calling. Especially for students he didn’t particularly like. York was one such student, but damn if he wasn’t a good player. Even Sarge had to admit that.

North was an all-star. He managed to get nearly all A’s, though occasionally a B or two would ruin that. He was an MVP on the football team and did community service. It pissed his twin off to no end. South had told him numerous times to ‘stop being so perfect’. It wasn’t his fault he enjoyed school, or that he was _good_ at things. Still, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for the trouble he was causing for his sister.

North looked over to York. He was busy trying to speed through the homework, punching numbers furiously into his calculator. Somehow he’d already managed to get through the first three problems and from what North could see, they were all correct. No one gave York enough credit; it’d taken North at least five minutes to do those problems.

By the time the teacher started collecting homework, York had gotten all but one done. He furiously tapped numbers into his graphing calculator, then scribbled a number down. When the instructor got to him, he gave her the paper with a wide grin. She moved on without a word, unsuspecting that York had done the entire sheet last minute.

North turned his head to York after handing her the paper, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How do you do it?” He asked. York laughed, then put his hands up, wiggling his fingers.

“Magic,” He whispered mysteriously. North chuckled. His friend had one eyebrow cocked and his lips pushed out slightly. It was hard for North not to notice York’s lips; they were full, beautiful lips, even if they were slightly chapped. North blinked, brow furrowing. He’d gotten over his crush on York last year (or so he liked to think) but he sometimes found himself staring. Especially when York did those ridiculous expressions that brought attention his best features. If North had to chose his favorite thing about York’s appearance, it would be his eyes. York’s eyes were light gray, and always had a spark of laughter in them. Those eyes were shifting to look at the board, now, as the teacher began speaking. North shook himself out of his daze, picking up his pencil to write down notes.

He couldn’t help it if his eyes strayed to the boy beside him every so often.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flying High as Bedrock is a Highschool AU for Red vs Blue, featuring a variety of PoVs and characters from the show.

Simmons was sitting on the bleachers after school, watching the football team practice. He didn’t have anywhere else to be, and figured watching Grif practice wasn’t the _worst_ thing he could do with his free time. They had a game tonight, which Simmons had agreed to come to after Dexter had pestered him endlessly about watching him in action.

Simmons hated football. Grif pretended that he didn’t care for it either, he hated physical activity, but his parents had pressured him into it. He was actually good at it, surprisingly. All his weight was good for throwing into other players and knocking them down.

As he watched, the team came out. It was a loud, rambunctious group of guys in tight pants and padding. They lined up on the field and started doing stretches. As they began squats, Simmons decided that football practice definitely wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

He hadn’t come out to his parents; hadn’t come out to anyone. As far as other people knew, he was as straight as a ruler. He smiled bitterly to himself. He was more of a protractor, minus the straight side.

He caught himself staring at Grif in a way friends shouldn’t stare at each other, and quickly looked down at the book in his lap. He was reading Of Mice and Men for the millionth time. He loved the book for some reason. Lennie reminded him of a classmate named Caboose, though hopefully Caboose wouldn’t kill anyone.

Soon, he looked up to find a very sweaty Grif plopping down next time him. Grif looked at the book and sighed.

“You’re reading that again?” He asked, wiping his forehead with the towel that hung from around his neck. His blue jersey was soaked.

“It’s a good book!” Simmons protested. Grif snorted, leaning back. Simmons side-eyed him. Grif was grinning slightly, his black hair plastered to his forehead. His dark skin was shining and he breathed out a sigh, the grin slipping.

“It’s too hot to be out here,” He grumbled, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand.

“You’re from Hawaii! Shouldn’t you be used to it?” Simmons asked skeptically.

“Dude, I didn’t do shit back in Hawaii! All I did was surf sometimes.” Grif’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips. Simmons swallowed, hoping the heat on his face was just from the hot weather. He hadn’t been staring at Grif’s lips; of course not, the movement had just caught his eye, forcing his gaze there. Grif had been his best friend since third grade, when the other boy moved from Hawaii to their small town called Blood Gulch. There was no way he had any romantic feelings toward the other boy. “Do you have any water?”

“Huh?” Simmons looked back up to Grif’s eyes. They were a light blue color; the color Simmons imagined the ocean would look like. He had never actually been to the ocean, but he’d seen pictures.

“Water. Agua. H2O,” Grif rolled his eyes. Simmons shook his head.

“Why don’t you have your own?” He asked, though he was already reaching for the bottle tucked into the side of his backpack. He pulled it out, handing the maroon container over to Grif.

“I forgot,” Grif shrugged, flicking the lid open and chugging. Simmons watched his adam’s apple bob up and down before Grif removed the bottle from his mouth, making a satisfied sound. When Simmons took the bottle back, he was irritated to find it almost all gone.

“You only left a swallow!” Simmons heard his voice rise an octave, the way it did when he was upset.

“At least I didn’t drink _all_ of it,” Grif retorted. Sarge blew the whistle and Grif groaned, hauling himself to his feet. With a quick wave, Grif was off strolling onto the field to resume practice.

 

In the locker room, York was leaning against the wall of lockers on one side of the room. They had about a half an hour before their first game of the season started. He frowned at North.

“Look, you can say it,” York sighed. He knew the other boy was thinking about his recent injury that had happened over the Summer; everyone avoided talking about it around him. He’d lost sight in one of his eyes, not his hearing.

“It’s just… are you sure you can play with only one eye?” North asked, gazing at him calmly. York rolled his eye.

“Of course I can play. It’s not like I’m fucking blind,” He mumbled.

“But didn’t you lose most depth perception?” His best friend pressed.

“That was temporary. I just had to adjust to only having one good eye.” He looked around for something to prove it with. “Hey, Randy!” He called to one of the freshman. He looked up in alarm, nearly dropping the ball in his hands. “Toss it!”

York easily snatched the football out of the air, throwing it back a second later. It hit Randy square in the chest and he fumbled for it, managing to catch it after a few moments.

“Alright, alright, fine,” North conceded, throwing his hands up. York grinned.

“It doesn’t bother me if you talk about it, you know,” He said, moving to sit by North. York’s hand moved up and brushed lightly across the scars on the left side of his face. It had been an accident. He’d been working on fixing the ventilation over top of a glass display case. His ladder had tipped and he’d fallen through the case, a glad shard cutting down his cheek. He’d been unconscious for a few hours before waking up in a hospital, some minor cuts on the rest of his body. The doctors had said he’d never see from his left eye again. Not that that’d kept him from doing all the same things he did before. He still drove his car, still played football, still kept up the same activities he had before.

The same activities, with the addition of smoking. He’d heard that people smoked when they were stressed, and damn was he stressed. He’d never tell that to North, though; his friend worried enough as it was. He could go for a pre-game cigarette, but he was sure to never smoke within the view of other people.

“Does it still hurt?” North asked softly. York shook his head.

“Stung like a bitch when it first happened, but not anymore.” North nodded.

“You should’ve been more careful,” He scolded. York looked at him.

“Too late to change anything now,” He said, slightly bitter. He knew he should have been more careful; it was a stupid mistake. It should have never happened. He should have checked the ladder, should have made sure everything was safe for him to do. But it’d been his last task at his job before he could go home, and he’d been eager to get it over and done with.

They sat in silence until it was time for the game to start.

 

Tucker was marching in between South and a freshman by the name of Jason Cunningham, playing his snare in time with the rest of the percussionists to form the cadence. Directly in front of him was Rogers, playing the bass drum. Rogers stopped and Tucker brought himself to a halt as well, his feet still marking time. The band members re-adjusted their positions by stepping back slightly.

“Baaaaand halt!” The drum major called. Everyone did two more marked time steps before stopping and standing still. As Tucker heard the at-ease command, he turned to South with a grin.

“I’ve gotten better at marching,” He gloated. South rolled her eyes, smirking slightly.

“Alright, fine, I’ll admit it. You’re not completely horrible anymore,” She teased, bumping him with her shoulder.

“Tucker!” A voice came from behind him. He groaned. It was that freshman that was always trying to get his attention, even though Tucker was in battery percussion and he was in pit percussion.

“What do you _want_ , Palomo?” Tucker turned to look at the boy. He had bright greenish-blue eyes and wild brown hair. His skin was pasty white save for the dark spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“I just wanted to say hi!” He beamed, “C.T. says I did pretty good with marching, I just have to work on keeping in time.” Connie was the section leader for the pit while South was battery percussion’s.

“Fucking great, Palomo. Why don’t you write home about it?” Tucker muttered. Palomo was so annoying.

“Palomo!” Connie called, “We’re heading up to the stands!”

“Oh, right! See ‘ya!” He waved and bounded off to join C.T. Pit didn’t play the national anthem at the beginning of the game, so instead all the pit percussionists went up to sit in the bleachers where the band would eventually join them. There, Tucker would have to endure Palomo until halftime, when they performed their field show. After that it was back up to the stands with more Palomo.

Tucker turned and scanned the crowd for Wash. It was difficult to find him, given how they were all clad in the same blue and silver uniform aside from the drum majors and color guard. He eventually spotted him, sauntered over, and threw an arm over the senior’s shoulder. Wash turned his head to look at Tucker, his eyebrows raised.

“Tucker, what are you doing?” He asked. Tucker smirked.

“I dunno, standing?” Wash just blinked at him. He removed his arm, backing up with a laugh. There was always a pre-performance buzz, Tucker had found out last year. The kids got hyper and tended to invade the others’ personal space more. Not that they didn’t do it regularly; it was band. Hell, the flutes had a tradition called ‘slap ass Friday’. It was a day that made Tucker regret choosing percussion instead of being a flutist.

The whistle blew, signaling for them to get into formation. Tucker regrettably left Wash to rejoin his line, falling into parade rest. They were called to attention and the band members sharply lifted their heads and brought their feet together.

“Hit!” The band called in unison. South began tapping out the counts on her snare, and they marched onto the field.

 

Church hated football. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. Tucker had somehow managed to convince him to come watch. It might not have been so bad if Church was allowed to actually _sit with the damn band_. Unfortunately, the band director had a strict band-member-only policy, so Church was left sitting in a sea of other students. Other students that he didn’t want to talk to. He scowled at the place Tucker was standing, leaning against the metal railing and laughing with South.

His angry look shifted its focus as someone plopped down beside him. He was left glaring at a blonde headed girl whose hair was cut into a pixie cut, bangs swept to the side. She had crystal blue eyes that lit up as she smirked at him. His heart gave a thud and he blinked.

“Who the fuck are you?” He felt his lip curling upward out of habit.

“The name’s Tex,” She sounded condescending. Oh, this bitch. He’d heard of her. She was a new student who thought she was all that and a box of chocolates.

“Oh, right, you,” He scoffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, deliberate curiosity in her voice.

“There’s tons of rumors about you. Is it true you’re the spawn of Satan that traveled all the way from the deepest pits of Hell to grace us with your malevolent presence?” He asked sarcastically. He was mildly surprised when she tipped her head back and laughed.

“Well, if you call Texas Hell, and a lawyer Satan, then yeah, you’ve got it right,” She jested.

“Close enough,” Church agreed, “My name’s Leonard Church by the way.”

“Right. So why’re you sitting here by yourself? You some kind of emo-hipster that thinks

they’re so cool when they isolate themselves at a game?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, my friend is just a giant dick and didn’t mention that no one can sit with the band if they’re not actually in the band,” He complained, “Plus my sister is the cheer captain and she usually gives me a ride home.”

Church looked to where Carolina was waving to the crowd. She let out a louder-than-normal ‘woo!’ as York scored a touchdown. York was over at their house often enough that Church would be lying if he said he hadn’t grown at least slightly fond of him. He and Carolina had been friends since kindergarden and Church had grown up with York being around Carolina fairly consistently. He was practically family by now.

“So you’re stuck watching the cheer team practice most days?” Tex asked.

“It’s not so bad. I mean, come on, girls in skirts getting into positions that they have to be really flexible for?” Church gestured to a cheerleader that had just kicked high enough for everyone to see the spandex she wore under her skirt. Tex snorted.

“Ulterior motives, much?”

“Hey, if I’m stranded might as well find some way to enjoy it, right?” The band was getting up and moving down from the bleachers. Church looked at the time on the scoreboard; three minutes left.

“I think I’m gonna try out for the cheer team,” Tex said off-handedly. Church turned and looked at her. She was lounging against the bleacher behind her, elbows up and feet kicked out. Church tried to imagine her in a skirt, instead of the black jeans and tank top she was wearing now. “What, don’t think I’d make it?”

“Huh?” He realized he’d been frowning while he thought. She’d look good in a skirt, he decided. Tex sat up, then turned to him and did a full split in a matter of seconds. He wondered how the actual fuck her pants didn’t rip.

“See?” She looked at him smugly, “I’m more flexible than I look.”

“I bet,” Church muttered before he could stop himself. Shit, why’d he say that? Tucker must be rubbing off on him. Tex chuckled, returning to her original lazy position. Church looked back out at the field, hoping he wasn’t blushing. The buzzers blared, causing him to jump and Tex to laugh louder. He stood up, ready to go to Carolina’s car and wait.

Instead, he felt a hand around his wrist, pulling it up. He looked back, bewildered, as Tex began scribbling on his palm with a black pen. He yanked his hand back and Tex just put the cap on her pen, shoving it back into her pocket, and winked. She strode off and Church looked at his hand.

On it was written a phone number.

 

Connie was sitting on one of the band room’s plastic chairs, waiting for South to finish putting her snare away. C.T. didn’t have any equipment to put away; it was all already put into the storage unit outside they used to shelter the pit instruments that were strictly for marching. So, instead, she was texting her friend Maine.

She glanced up as Wash moved the chair beside her to straddle it, his arms folded over the back. He leaned his head down on them, his bright blue eyes staring into Connie’s.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“You’re gay, right?” Of all the things she was expecting Wash to say, that was not one of them. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“How could you tell?” She feigned a surprised expression. He rolled his eyes.

“How did you, you know, find out?” He asked.

“I looked at a girl and thought ‘I wanna tap that’,” She snarked. Wash looked at her with a pleading expression. She sighed, rubbing her face. “I dunno, Davie. I just kinda realized I liked girls. Why are you even asking?”

“I.. um, I dunno,” He looked down at the tiled marble floor. His face was turning red underneath his freckles. Connie gave a little gasp of delight.

“Does Davie have a crush?” She grinned wickedly.

“N-no, it’s nothing like that!” Wash protested, his head shooting up.

“He does!” She cheered. South walked up, hands on her hips.

“Does what?” She asked, sitting on Connie’s lap. Even though C.T. was smaller, she simply looped her arms around the bigger girl’s waist.

“Have a crush,” She said smugly. South’s eyes gleamed.

“I do not!” Wash huffed, getting up. He glared at them before storming off.

“Think I pushed it too far?” Connie frowned.

“Nah, it’s Wash. You know how he gets,” South assured her, tilting her head to peck Connie on the cheek. “Now come on, I have an eleven o'clock curfew and it’s already ten thirty.”

“Right,” Connie took her keys out of her pocket as South got off of her, hopping down from the raised platform that held the second row of chairs and headed out to her car, her hand in South’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a ton of fun with this chapter.   
> Especially the Church and Tex part.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely about relationships. Oops.

Saturday morning, Donut woke up early. He woke up early nearly every morning. He sauntered down to the kitchen, gathering up materials to make breakfast. He didn’t typically have time to during the week, so weekends are his opportunity to fix up a morning meal for himself and his roommate.

Sadly, there had been a football game last night, which meant all of his friends involved with either cheerleading, football, band, or the ones that were just at the game were probably going to be sleeping in. Not that Grif didn’t anyway (he had to stay after school to serve detention multiple times for tardies), but usually Simmons was an early riser like him. However, Simmons had been at the game last night.

He looked up as his roommate entered the room, yawning. He’d been kicked out of his house after his aunt had refused to ‘shelter a gay boy,’ as she put it. He knew coming out to his witch of a relative had been a bad idea.

He’d gone to his friend Doc, who had graduated high school last year due to being moved up two grades. He was in college now, and his parents were rich enough to let him have his own apartment. He’d asked their permission before letting Donut stay with him.

“Good morning!” Donut chimed. Doc gave him a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Donut.”

“Good sleep?” Doc nodded, rubbing his eyes. Doc usually took a while to really wake up in the mornings, especially without coffee. Donut handed a mug of the stuff to him and Doc nodded gratefully. He served up breakfast, sliding into the seat across from Doc at their small kitchen table. He licked his lips, spearing a pancake with his fork. “So, I was thinking we could go bowling or something today-”

“Sorry, Donut,” Doc gave him an apologetic look, “I’m going over to Emily’s to study today. We have a huge test coming up.” Doc was going for a medical degree, like his classmate Emily Grey. Donut nodded in understanding.

“Is Emily the one that freaks you out or the one who has a giant crush on you?” Donut teased. Doc rolled his eyes.

“Both,” He sighed, “She won’t leave me alone!” Donut laughed. He had to admit, Doc was hard not to have a crush on. With his light brown hair that brushed over the tips of his ears and the way he smiled, the light of it always reaching his grey eyes. Donut probably would have tried to date him (he had thought about it extensively) if not for O’Malley.

His friend had multiple personality disorder, and Donut was more than a little scared of the side of him that called itself O’Malley. Donut knew O’Malley had manifested himself due to a traumatic event, a sort of defense mechanism. While Doc was a pacifist, O’Malley had no qualms with beating the shit out of anyone who threatened or upset him.

“You sure going to her house is a good idea? I mean it is the wolf’s lair. She’d have you right where she wants you!” Donut said, only half-joking.

“She’s not _that_ bad,” Doc protested.

“Well, we’ll see who was right when you don’t come home tonight,” Donut grinned, making a snapping motion with his mouth.

 

Carolina was awake at nine A.M. and back from her morning jog by ten. She pulled her phone out from the waistband of her yoga pants, turning the music that it was playing off. She noticed she had a text from York.

**hey lina wanna hang @ the park?**

Sent at 9:43. After getting over her initial surprise that York was even up this early, she grinned. Seeing as she had nothing to do today….

**Sure. What time?**

The reply came a few minutes later while she was changing out of her workout clothes.

**12? ill bring lunch**

**Sounds good. See you there.**

She looked at the clothing in her dresser. Jeans, sweats, shorts… It all seemed too plain. She frowned, her eyes landing on a teal skirt. She hardly ever wore skirts or dresses, aside from formal events…

An hour later she was leaving her house, much more dressed up than was appropriate for a picnic. She didn’t know why she had the urge to look pretty, especially since it was just York she was going to go see. The skirt came to just below mid-thigh, the top button of her black blouse left undone. It choked her and felt much too formal when fully buttoned. She didn’t dare wear high-heels to the park,- York had a tendency to run with something of her’s and she’d have to chase after- instead opting for black flats. She’d bothered to put on a faint amount of makeup, including mascara, light teal eyeshadow, and lipstick that made her lips a few shades darker.

She arrived at the park to see York leaning against the low, intricate, black fence that surrounded the park. It was more for appeal than keeping people out. He was on his phone (playing some game, no doubt), but looked up as he heard her approaching. He pocketed it, picking up the wooden picnic basket that was by his foot. Old-school. Carolina knew she couldn’t fight down a smile, so she turned it into a smirk.

“Well, now I feel under dressed.” York looked her up and down, then lead the way through the gate that marked the park’s entrance.

“You should. Everyone knows when you invite a lady out to lunch, it’s customary to at least _try_ to look your best,” She said matter-of-factly.

“Of course. My apologies, mi’ _lady_ ,” He intoned, offering a sweeping bow. She couldn’t stop the snort of laughter it brought from her. “Dost thou see something funny?” He straightened, putting a hand over his eyes in a mock attempt at scanning the area.

“Only you, dork,” She laughed. York was damn good at getting her to do that.

“Oh, no, you see, you have mistaken me! My name is Sir _York_ , good maiden!” He gave her an understanding look, “It’s very easy to get the two confused.” She elbowed him in the gut and he laughed. “Alright, alright. Does this look like a good place to you?”

They had arrived at a clearing in the small woods, several trees in every direction to block from unwanted company. While York was generally good with kids, it didn’t mean he liked it when they came barging in on their conversation looking for some lost ball or other. She nodded and he opened up his basket, taking out a red-and-white checkered blanket.

“Wow. Pulling out all the stops, huh?” She asked.

“How else am I supposed to make up for being terribly casual?” He asked, gesturing mournfully at his clothes. The way Carolina pushed air out of her nose quickly could have been interpreted as a laugh. He gave her a grin, spreading the blanket on the ground. He set the basket on top of it, then sat down. Carolina followed his example, careful to sit in a way that wouldn’t reveal what was under her skirt. York began taking out the food, spreading it out on the blanket. Carolina looked at the piece of food nearest her- a watermelon- and her mouth watered.

After York finished arranging the spread, they dug in.

 

Even when she was stuffing her face she was hot. It wasn’t fair. York tore his eyes away to stare at his now-empty tupperware container of deviled eggs. Since he had finished his food and Carolina was still eating her’s, he decided now was the perfect time to strike. He leaned over and snatched her purse, getting to his feet and hauling ass.

“Hey!” He heard her shout, followed by the rustling of the picnic blanket as she stood up. While she sounded annoyed, York could tell it was fake by the barely-restrained laughter in her voice. He heard footsteps behind him. “Get back here, you thief!” By the sound of it, she was quickly gaining on him. He laughed and turned on his heel mid-stride, throwing his arms wide. She crashed into him, sending them both toppling. He wrapped his arms around her waist to make sure she landed on him so that he would cushion her fall.

“Fancy meeting you here,” He gave her a sly smile. She rolled her eyes, pushing herself up with her hands against his chest. Her green eyes were so much more vibrant with the eyeshadow surrounding them. Her lips seemed fuller, and that unbuttoned part of her shirt was absolutely amazing. Not that he was looking there. She was so close, he could smell the lavender scent of her perfume even through the strong scent of autumnal leaves that emanated from under and around them.

He kept his arms wrapped around her, forcing her to stay like that. He couldn’t say why, but he was reluctant to let her go. She sighed, giving him a look that said _what will it take for you to let me go?_ Before even he himself could react, his body was moving of its own volition, rolling over and pinning her under him. Carolina’s head was in between the two arms he was using to hold himself up. Her red hair fanned out under her, the shade matching that of the leaves. She blinked in surprise, her eyebrows raising. York found himself leaning down, his lips meeting her’s gently.

He felt more than heard the hum of surprise. She wasn’t pushing him away, though. He would have stopped immediately if she had. She was doing the opposite, actually. Carolina’s hands reached up and cupped his face. She was kissing back, York realized- She was kissing back! She tasted like the watermelon she’d been eating before he’d run off with her purse.

After a minute that felt like a century, he drew back, looking down at her.  He noticed the faint flush that colored her face in the moment before their eyes locked. He couldn’t help the crooked grin that rose to his face.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for forever,” He breathed. A moment later, he found himself being pulled back down, and gleefully allowed himself to give into the tender kiss Carolina was offering him.

 

It was noon when South opened an eye, blinking at the light purple ceiling of her room. She sighed through her nose, looking next to her. Curled up against her side was her girlfriend, her breathing deep and even. She was clad in brown pajama bottoms and one of South’s T-shirts. It was a few sizes too big for her, which South found utterly adorable.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” She poked Connie in the side, giving a victorious smile as the other girl’s eyes snapped open to give South a playful glare. She had opted to just spend the night at South’s house instead of driving home. Connie told her mother she was staying with a different friend- not South, her mother would never allow that- and South’s parents had no idea that they were romantically involved.

“You could’ve let me pretend for just a few more minutes,” She groaned. South shifted so that she could plant a kiss on the top of Connie’s head. The brunette snuggled a little bit closer to her.

It was far too soon when a knock came from the door. South shoved C.T. onto the floor, smiled wickedly at her, then shouted, “Come in!”

North opened the door, still wearing his pajamas. He raised an eyebrow at Connie, then looked back to South.

“I didn’t know C.T. was staying over,” Was all he said as he gave her a knowing look and strode away, down the hall. Out of their entire family, only North knew about her relationship with Connie, or even her sexual orientation.

“You could’ve at least closed the door, asshole!” South called after him. She sat up, running a hand through her rumpled hair.

“North, she said a bad word!” A blonde head appeared as her little brother followed after North.

“I know, she’s a bad person,” North teased. South rolled her eyes, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Hey, Theta,” Connie grinned, watching as South’s little brother paused to peer into his sister’s room.

“C.T.!” He cried, darting into the room and wrapping his arms around Connie’s neck. She laughed and patted him on the back. He gazed up at her with his large purple-ish blue eyes. Theta admired C.T. and South couldn’t blame him. Her girlfriend was amazing.

“How’re you, little man?” She asked, ruffling his hair.

“Good! What about you?” He said politely. North rubbed off on Theta a lot, most likely due to the fact Theta idolized North. He was constantly trying to be just like him.

“I’m good. That’s sweet of you to ask.” Theta beamed at that. South marveled at Connie. She was so good with kids. South had viewed this scene numerous times, and every time the two interacted, South was amazed by C.T.’s skill with children. She’d make a good mother.

“Breakfast is ready!” South’s mother called. Theta quickly detached himself and bolted for the door. South chuckled and the two girls followed him, holding hands until they reached the dining room.

 

Tucker had given up the number of detentions he’d had after 43. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to be here on a Saturday afternoon, staring out the window. The only thing that made it slightly more manageable was the fact Church was sitting a few desks over for mouthing off to a teacher. He blew a bubble using the gum he was chewing, popping it loudly. Church scowled at him. He waved lazily at him. He kept glaring.

“Church, you look like you have a stick shoved up your ass,” Tucker commented. This time he got an eye roll.

“Or an annoying fuck up trying to talk to me,” Church grumbled. Tucker gave him his best ‘what can I say’ shrug. Church just sighed, putting down the pencil he’d been writing with and leaning back in his seat.

“This blows. It’s not my fault the bitch didn’t know what the fuck she was teaching,” He complained, “What’s so hard to get about factoring? I know she was a substitute, but come on! That stuff is child’s play.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tucker muttered. Math wasn’t one of his favorite subjects. In fact, he was pretty sure if he were to have an aneurysm, math would be the cause.

“Whatever.”

“What’s with you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at Church. “You’re pissy all the time, but this is different from your normal pissy. This is like, real piss, instead of the fake stuff you use to try to cover up your emotions.” Church wrinkled his nose at that.

“Gross. It’s none of your fucking business, anyway.”

“Fine, McPissBreath.”

“President Dick Stain.”

“Pope Fuck Face.”

“Prime Minister Shit-” Church was cut off as the door opened, the teacher getting back from the bathroom break he’d just been on. They both snapped around to face the front, pretending to do their work.

“You know, I can hear your name-calling halfway down the hall. Just be lucky I’m not Mr. Jones.” Tucker looked up to see a blonde chick march past him and plunk down in a seat near Church’s. “By the way, nice to see you again, Sergeant Cockbite.”

“Nice one,” Tucker snorted. Church looked at them indignantly.

“Two on one is so not fair,” He growled.

“Suck it up, buttercup, life ain’t fair.” The girl countered. Tucker was starting to like this girl. That is, until she turned her gaze to him.

“Hey, slim jim, stop staring at my tits before I slam my foot into a place that you _really_ don’t want feet to be.” Well, there went that potential friendship. Tucker instinctively shoved his legs together, trying to protect the goods. This got a laugh from her.

“Why’re you here, Tex?” Church asked. So this was the new girl? Well, she certainly did fit the description the rumors going around school had painted. Tucker made sure to keep his eyes trained on anything but her, glancing at the chalkboard where _DETENTION_ was written in big capital letters. Because without that they’d totally forget why they had to come into school on a weekend and just wander off, right?

“Let’s just say the board of education doesn’t exactly like it when giant dicks are spray painted on the side of the building,” She gave a wolfish smile.

“So that’s where that came from!” Tucker hooted, “Now that’s a true work of art!”

“I’m glad someone around here can appreciate true masterpieces.” Tex kicked her booted feet up onto the desk. Church’s fake-sulking-face was back, signaling he was in a better mood. Tucker didn’t know when exactly he’d started to be able to pick up on Church’s subtle changes in expression, but it was useful as hell to know. Especially since he could now shoot spit balls at him without risk of bodily harm. He did that exact thing.

“Hey!” Church protested as one hit him square on the nose.

“Bulls-eye!” Tucker cheered, throwing one arm into the air.

“I go to the bathroom for five minutes and I end up with another student, talking, and spit balls?” Mr. Jones’s voice came from the front of the room.

“Sorry, Mr. Joennes,” Tucker mumbled.

“It’s Mr. _Jones_ ,” The teacher sighed in irritation. There were two teachers with similar names at the school; Mr. Jones and Mr. Joennes. The students often called the teachers by the other name to piss them off. “Turn around and stay quiet.”

The three students did as they were told, but Tucker sometimes got a paper airplane when Mr. Jones had his back turned and he could hear the occasional snicker come from behind him. An airplane landed on his desk and he heard a hiss behind him from Tex as he opened it.

“Church, you can’t aim for shit!” She muttered. Tucker looked at the two messages scrawled on the paper, one in what he assumed to be Tex’s handwriting, the other Church’s.

_Hey, wanna hang 2nite? ;)_

_Sure._

Based on where Tucker’s inferences were going, he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to have seen that message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My shipper heart got the better of me. My bad. Sorry it took so long to update, school has kept me EXTREMELY busy. Poor Mr. Jones and Mr. Joennes. Can you imagine that staff meeting?


End file.
